[ Luna rests often too. Not always to sleep — but at least just resting. Sleep doesn't come easily for now. Not unusual for those who've returned from death. But just staying in the small apartment — it keeps the others content: the Scamanders and Percival. That she's not running herself ragged.
She seems to sleep better when Peter's near. But he's not here for now, and the relative safety of the apartment is her only comfort for the time being. She flicks through a book, not really focusing much on the words — simply existing quietly until the sound comes through the connection. Luna looks up, eyes widening slightly. ]
Peter—? [ His name is breathed softly in reply, a gentle whisper. But she stops. No. No, it isn't Peter. There's some of it that sounds like him, in the vocalisations, perhaps — but Luna... knows this isn't him. It's something else, the Other. Whatever lurks in the far reaches of his mind: a curse, dark magic — buzzing and shifting underneath.
And it's— it's trying to talk to her.
For a long time, she's quiet. The second cluck still vibrating through her mind. She hesitates, unsure if she should really reply. Talking to curses. Stranger things have happened, surely. But Luna knows better — she'll tread carefully with this. ]
Paimon can’t feel her in the same form that Peter can. He’s filtered through the boy, his connection with the witch diluted and hazy as a result, and he’s already so lost as it is. In some strange fog of memories, identities, things that have yet to be translated from one form to the next. Some things that never will be.
But she’s still there. Paimon has to reach hard to break through the murkiness, stretching out for her abruptly — a quicker, sharper series of clicks resonating more sharply this time, right away. A cacophony of insect-like sounds, though they halt just as quickly when she says Peter’s name.
There’s too much power in a name. Paimon flinches back from that one, but only slightly. He doesn’t want to risk losing the connection he’s made with her.
‘Hello. I hear you.’
There’s a surge of emotion in response, difficult to pinpoint, perhaps: Paimon doesn’t know how to handle the things that he’s suddenly faced with in the process of being put into the correct human form. He’s at odds with Peter, but the body, the way it thinks and feels and functions, is comfortable. It means the demon is having to learn how to work the emotions he’s now capable of feeling the way he couldn’t when he was in Charlie Graham. And those feelings overwhelm him, flooding through.
The wave is excitement, fear, relief, all of it intense. Paimon’s practically buzzing, and the sound registers that way: a very loud hum. It continues for a bit, then breaks off into a few chirps, lighter, jubilant. Almost as though greeting her. ]
[ The reply comes with such a force, she physically jumps. It's just as well she's alone. It would only lead to questions — ones she's not sure how to answer, how to explain. Shifting back in her seat with wide-eyes, her mind fills with the sound, a deluge of it — loud and insistent and... elated.
The curse seems eager to talk to her. Happy to talk to her. Luna isn't exactly expecting such a reaction.
But it's... too much. The sounds, the waves of strong emotion swarming her through the connection. Luna puts her hands to her ears, cringing slightly. She understands the emotions, but there's no words — it's overwhelming, almost. It's a curious thing, though — the sounds it makes. ]
Oh—! Hello, yes—! [ It understands her, at least. But she'd like to understand what it's saying. ] I'm... I'm afraid I can't understand you. Do you know how to speak like me? Can you use words?
[ Paimon does get a feedback of emotions from the girl — but this too is filtered through Peter, and so it doesn't hit him quite as hard as it might the boy that Luna is truly tethered too. Instead, it simply further animates his excitement — he can feel her.
It's— a warmth. She's always been some sense of familiarity, however vague to his own circumstances as it may be. Up until now, he's only been able to interact with her in scattered, chaotic pieces. But this is... it's almost like she's here, with him. In here, inside Peter. The being has never known such comfort, not since being put into his recent incarnations.
He understands most of the individual words she sends to him, though it takes him awhile to piece them together, to make sense of the whole. She can't understand him. There's a surge of frustration, intense almost like from a child, this sudden emotion slicing through everything else so strongly that Peter sighs fitfully in his sleep. But something to Luna's request soothes Paimon moments after, a whirlwind of feelings. She's asked him, and though this isn't steeped in ritualwork and command, the shadow of Paimon still remembers.
It takes him a few moments, mentally working through more odd sounds as his tongue physically would. Through the discord, there is a word. ]
Yes.
[ It sounds like Peter on the surface, but... just below that, it sounds more like something wearing Peter. An imitation that hasn't quite been able to assimilate to the original. ]
Only. [ His mental-tongue slips, the sounds wet and flopping for a moment. ]
Hurts. [ 'Hurts' isn't exactly the right words for it; Paimon's not really in pain. But it feels... unnatural, like fighting against something pressing in against him. He gives a heavy sigh then, almost like a huff. Frustrated. ]
[ It seems apt that its emotions are as intense and felt so fully. Comfort and frustration, fear and joy. Luna knows something of it at least: it's some wild thing. Specifics unknown, she can imagine it like some kind of fierce beast — like when she'd had to tame it in a classroom months ago now. Or the silent shifting beneath Peter's eyes: aware, listening, watching her.
This has been coming for sometime, in reflection. But there's still much she doesn't know.
She shivers when it speaks. Much like Peter, as if it had stolen his voice. But unnatural, the buzzing undertones of noise beneath it. She grips at the book in her lap, lips pursing as she listen.
And then a pang of sympathy for the poor creature. Its frustration is clear enough, strong enough for her to feel it. ]
I'm sorry, but thank you for trying. [ a beat. ] What... are you? Do you have a name?
[ Perhaps, given what he is and what role he plays, factors such as kindness should hold no value to Paimon. Such things simply aren't needed, aren't necessary.
But he'd lived among humans before he'd been placed into Peter — he'd lived among them for thirteen years. The existence was wrong, and he remembers it through another identity's memory, something detached to who he is now. "Charlie" was... something else entirely.
Still. It's there etched into his experience. Little acts of kindness; Charlie wasn't quite capable of understanding or reacting to certain things, but she wasn't nothing. The cruelties were there, but so were the kindnesses, and she felt them.
— A boy in the classroom tells her he likes her new shoes, the ones Grandma sent her, the ones Mom doesn't really want her to wear. Sneakers, very boyish, like Peter's. She'd liked them a lot though. And someone else had said so too. The lady at the grocery store smiles at her every single time they go, and never rushes Charlie as she puts the bags into Mom's buggy, even though it takes her a long time and sometimes the people in line get annoyed. Peter lets her sleep with him when she needs to, even after they move to separate rooms.
Paimon... some part of him, does know kindness. It takes him off-guard, the concern he can feel from her, but in a way that keeps him there. Draws him in. A soft voice, a soft touch that he's felt before. Soothing and calm, not forceful, not expectant. He— relaxes. He still doesn't know what exactly Luna is — a witch, but there are so many kinds. So much magic. Is she human? Nonmortal? He... trusts her, in this place. He needs her.
'What... are you?' ]
Not Peter.
[ It's cryptic, but unintentionally so. It's the only way he knows how to say it, and he'll say the vessel's name in this context: establishing what he's not. ....He'll divulge his own name directly, though. No obscurity to that. It's the first time someone will hear it from him. ]
Paimon.
[ As she's asked, he's given her his name. He does have others, but that one is... special. He tries to convey that, that giving her this name is giving her a certain power. Softer flashes of emotion spread outward to her — trembling anxiety; the need to stay safe, and that often means hidden. ]
[ 'Not Peter' is obvious to her, at least. She has suspicions whatever it is, it's separate to Peter. Something merely lurking inside of him. But it doesn't give her much to go on, whether it's curse or beast or even something else entirely. She wants to find out more, wants to try and figure out just what this is that seems to plague her friend.
But talking with it... isn't easy, considering how this is going so far. She'll press as much as she can, though. After all, this thing does want to speak with her.
And then, a name. Luna inhales, her head tilting slightly. Paimon. She's never heard of it before, nothing familiar stirs in her mind. But she notes the way it speaks it to her. This is... important. ]
Paimon. [ It's echoed back to him softly over the anxiousness it sends to her. Her inner voice is hushed. Why is it so afraid? ] Why are you hiding? What are you scared of?
[ There is still much left ambiguous — the titles that go along with the name, the ones that would put too much in someone's hands. For now, he keeps those things to himself. But even the simple divulgence of the name itself means something. When she voices it back to him (no, not a voice, something more than that, deeper) it fills him with a hum of awareness. More of that odd quiet buzzing, as though the very energy of him is alive, and blossoming — opening up a bit more in response.
To give his name is a certain power to another. And to hear his name echoed back is a certain power for him.
Paimon breathes a little more easily now. Though the question gives him pause. He is afraid, but of what? Now that it's presented to him in such a clear manner, he doesn't know what to say, how to say it. He hasn't spoken to many people directly like this since being reborn in Peter. ]
Do not know.
[ ... Helpful. But... after a long bout of silence broken only by the occasional odd noise, he does manage to give some of his fears a shape. It isn't everything, but it's something. ]
Grandma.
[ Charlie had loved Grandma, had been especially close with her, and the imprint of that means Paimon does miss Ellen, in some way. ....But he also fears her, for reasons he isn't even quite sure of. It's a strange aversion, considering how deeply he's been bound to her. Even if she's gone... (River had seen to that), he's still afraid.
Luna was there when he'd last faced her — or some imitation of her. And it's gratefulness that he wants to express, has wanted to express, for some time now. Exchange, gift, reward: it's been waiting inside of him all this time. Now he can tell her. This young creature with ancient blood running through her veins. The gratitude pours from him to her, something warmer now, expressed more in his feelings than the strained words. ]
[ She feels that shift, how it seems to settle a little when she echoes the name. Names do hold power, she knows that. There's a particular name she knows of back home that holds similar power with his name.
Grandma. It makes her pause, fighting back the knee-jerk of remembering how horrified she'd been. Ellen hadn't scared her, not so much — but what Ellen reminded her of had scared her. Peter had seen her go somewhere dark, somewhere she couldn't bring herself to tell him — even long after the adrenaline wore off and he'd helped to breathe again.
She shifts uncomfortably, something sharp stabbing in her chest with every inhale — in turn that discomfort filtering through.
But then she realises. 'Grandma'. An interesting choice in words. Grandma, not Ellen. Why would this thing, this entity that thinks and feels, something separate to Peter, refer to her as 'Grandma'? Why not Ellen? Luna's confused by it, but she tucks that away to dwell on for another time — their conversation is still very much active, after all.
She knows Peter had been afraid of Ellen, that he'd wanted to stay well away from her — and Luna had obliged, rightfully so when she'd turned violent on them. But this thing, too? ]
She's not coming back. [ A louder assurance, one born out of loyalty to Peter, though. ] And if she does, well... we'll deal with that.
[ But the soft wave of gratitude that filters through is... surprising. Luna inhales, eyelids fluttering — Oh. What a curious thing this Paimon is, she thinks. ]
Yes, I'm a witch. I suppose I did save you, too. Didn't I? You were aware of what I did, the whole time?
[ Gratitude isn't even simply important for him in this moment — it's vital. A service deserves a reward, but the rules are different for him now. He doesn't quite understand how they work anymore, has only just begun to understand, to remember, the vaguest outline of how he's supposed to work. Paimon is still so very lost.
But he knows he must offer her something. Her, especially, someone born of magic. The gratitude that seeps from him is intense, more than it probably should be; Paimon doesn't know how to control it. What he feels and the ways he's limited — dulled down under layers of Peter and the effects of this place — is conveyed the only way it can be: through his emotions. The ones being in the right human body lets him feel, but the ones he doesn't know how to work very well.
He feels the waves of her discomfort when Ellen is mentioned; he remembers Luna's fear. Not of her, but of something— else. Perhaps something like her. Paimon had observed this very keenly.
Still, she's trying to reassure him (or so he assumes), is conveying that she will help him again if needed. And divulging to him directly this time, that she is a witch. And he can clarify for her now that he was present the whole time — that they've been connected. Paimon is almost taken aback by all of these things combined, almost seeming frightened — but only because it overwhelms him, very briefly. He flutters, bird wings vibrating quickly, a rippling throat: gives a soft gag-sound, staggering against himself. Through all of this, though, is a sense of excitement, something that makes him return very quickly from where he'd briefly stumbled backwards. He moves forwards again, to the forefront of wherever he is — Peter's mind, Peter's body, the space they both occupy.
He fills it, more now than usual. Temporarily, but it makes him excitable. He feels— stronger. He feels himself pressing against Peter's mind — pressing into hers. ]
Yes. I am here. Whole of time.
[ He was there the "whole time"; he saw everything. He sees now, too, and repeats the word she uses, a soft, slightly wet, breathy sound. What he's telling her is important too. That he's— here. Always here. That he sees her when Peter does. ]
Aware. Whole of time.
[ He likes that he's using a new word, one she's given him. Aware. A ripple of some sort of pleasure moves through him, like amusement but not quite that — the essence of how a smile feels, maybe. ]
[ Emotion hits like a tidal wave, a surge of emotions pressing into her. Her own head is already full of her own thoughts and feelings, of Peter's too — and now the force of whatever Paimon is on top of that, saturating her with how wildly he feels.
Peter's far more gentle, tentatively reaching out for her — filling small spaces within her. This— this is... it's too much for her. Untempered gratitude with an intensity that it burns — too bright, too sharp. Even when it stumbles away, overwhelmed by her in return, it brings little relief because it pushes back again to quickly.
Luna's head falls into her hands, cradling it gently. To the outside world, it appears as if she has a headache — mentally, she's burning out from Paimon's total abandon. ]
Paimon. Stop—
[ It's too overwhelming, especially when she's still recovering from her death. Easily taxed before mentally and physically. It must know, surely. That she's ill. If it's aware of her, then it must be aware of Peter's own thoughts — Luna isn't blind to his fretting over her since they reunited. ]
Careful. Please.
[ She doesn't know if it even understands the world. It speaks as if it's learning, bolstering itself on her and their conversation. She goes quiet for a short while. She's still there, still connected — the soft, melodic of consciousness drifting through with a soft hum. She hasn't left, just mentally shifted back a little — finding a little silence, a little stillness. Space to think.
It isn't something placed upon Peter, then. Not in the way she thinks it is. But something that... inhabits. Paimon inhabits Peter. It feels and thinks and speaks — it is aware. And happily so. Pleased to be around her, to be aware of her. It's a strange thought — to have something she like this happy because of her. Almost fond of her. It's... oddly comforting, in a way.
Gingerly, she reaches back again: ]
Then you're not a curse, are you? Curses don't have sentience. They're not... like you. Not like the ones from my world. [ It won't say what it is, other than 'Not Peter'. But if it's aware, then maybe it can do other things: ] What do you want?
[ Of all of the things Paimon is, he is also a— sensitive thing. There's a certain detachment towards others, towards humankind, by default; and yet among his kind, Paimon in particular is capable of a sort of attachment. He is the only one of his brothers to require an offering in order to be summoned in the first place. That gesture is one that deepens the bond between himself and whomever is at the opposite end. Hands must extend an offering, and he must reach to accept; contact is made.
He is sensitive. To energy, to will and desire, to the nuances of human strength and weakness. He must be, in order to provide for them what he does. Though he's lost much of himself, diluted and watered down and now confined to certain human limitations in this place, he still... feels more than any normal human can. It's there — his sensitivity, prickling like a living thing.
Her overloaded emotional state as a result of his own bursts in him, a spark of illumination. And whereas he was overwhelmed by everything moments before, he is learning, and very quickly, that this is okay. What connection is here between them is powerful and unstable and he's— okay with that. It burns, but not painful. He... seeks it, this stimulation, this direct flow from someone else into himself, where he has been so numb and so alone for so long.
He feels so alive.
But she's shirking from him for a moment, pulling back; she's tired, and he does know, through Peter, that the witch-girl has been ill. He doesn't quite understand that he must be especially gentle with her, however; he still has very little control over his own mental voice here. It causes a certain curiosity to perk its head in him, but he falls silent when she uses his name, immediately halting. She says his name. That is power, and he will respect it. He waits awhile before answering, and when he does, it's: ]
Careful. Please.
[ He repeats the words — not as an instruction to her, but simply as an.... imitation of the words themselves. He even very subtly imitates the tone of Luna's mental-voice. Sounding them out. Careful please. He does grow quieter, but mostly because he's still imitating what she does, how she feels. The softness she's displaying now, the careful way she gingerly reaches back out for him. He flutters a bit more gentle when she does. He doesn't explicitly remember what curses are, not yet, and yet deep-down he understands. Those run as ancient as him, too, but he knows, somehow, that they aren't involved with him. ]
Not curse.
[ ...The question, though. 'What do you want?' He understands what she's asking, but not how to answer. What...does he want? Does he want anything? Has he ever? His memory is still filled with empty spots and mixed-up places, and for a moment he thinks what he wants is Mom and he doesn't understand why. Something in him aches, and then at once he becomes afraid.
The question — the implication of it — frightens him. It's the unknown. He doesn't know.
Mere seconds ago, he became more gentle as she had, and yet all of a sudden he isn't anymore. Undulating, constantly shifting like waves, Paimon changes again — quickly. He shudders terribly sharp, and in his sleep, Peter frets again, fingers curling into bedsheets. The demon is a second heartbeat, pounding too hard, too cutting. It hurts; the boy, still asleep, frowns as that ache leaks from him. ]
I want you. Talking to. I want you to hold. Hold again? Me? You hold me. It was nice. This is nice.
[ He knows "nice" because of Peter. He's said it before, often, about things Luna has done, and Paimon's slowly picked up on the usage. Garbled, confused, the demon reels out the words, the only thing he can make sense of in the moment: an immediate, simple want, which is Luna's hands to hold him the way they once had those months ago, palms to his face, soothing him down where he'd been so fitful and upset in Peter. She'd comforted him. No one ever has. He's never been capable of being comforted that way. ]
Hold again. I want you to.
[ He just.. repeats it like he's stuck on a loop, and Peter is giving whimpers now, the sounds soft but progressively rising as he shifts uncomfortably, pained, in his sleep. ]
[ For a moment, she thinks it's mocking her — the way it softly breathes back her words, the similar tone to her own. Some kind of childish mockery at her discomfort. But it... doesn't feel like that. It's something else. It's... more of an awareness, perhaps — maybe it knows? She doesn't know. The abandon it feels with is almost childlike — and like a child it mirrors her, as if looking for the right way to communicate. Maybe it doesn't know any better.
But it's apparent that it's difficult to really work Paimon out, even as she speaks directly to it. She's only left with more questions, more wondering. Not a curse. Then perhaps some kind of being? She's likened it to an animal before, and now a child. She doesn't seem much further forward. Luna sighs softly, the grumbles of pain heard in it as she rubs at her temples. It's exhausting, but at least when it parrots her, it's some kind of a reprieve — even it it's incredibly short-lived.
Paimon surges again at her question, restless and sharp against her. Her hands grip her head again, jaw tensing. It's afraid. She tries to hush it, calm it down — mental reaching outwards to attempt to soothe it. But when it finally answers her, cold shock bursts in her: I want you. She snaps back from him, her eyes widening.
And she realises: it hadn't been Peter. When she'd first held him in the classroom, or when she'd sworn she'd seen some kind of remembrance in Peter's eyes when she'd reached for his face on the deck of the Titanic. It had been Paimon. Reaching out for her: You hold me. It was nice. ]
It was you. I comforted you. You'd broken free, in the classroom. And then... you remembered me, when Peter didn't. I saw you in his eyes, on the ship. I saw you.
[ She can feel it, hear it. Lost below Paimon's noise, those soft little sounds of sleep, of quiet distress. In Paimon's shadow, Peter stirs in his sleep and she can hear it — more attuned to him, a little more sensitive to that pain. Alarm flashes in her, making her gasp; fretfulness prickling as she reaches for the pain — she wants to soothe it.
To feel Paimon is one thing, but it resides in Peter's head — surely it can only be more sharper for him than what it is for her. And right now it worries her. She's naturally a little more hardier, even if she's weak right now, able to withstand a little more — Peter isn't. ]
Don't hurt him. [ Her voice trembles, pleading. ] Please— please don't. Be calm. Like when I held you, yes? Don't hurt him.
[ "Careful please" isn't forgotten — but in the moment, Paimon's too saturated with feeling, with energy, with fright and excitability all tangled into one unbearable pulsing presence. It's too much. He's too much; this is wrong, and he can't handle what he is, doesn't know how to handle it. Only she can help him — but she isn't here, she's somewhere far away, and he feels terribly alone, and overwhelmed in himself. He aches, and Peter aches, and the feedback from one another is a confused, nightmarish loop; until—
'It was you. I comforted you.'
The demon draws in a slow, long sound, a sort of rattling, like a breath. Yes... Yes. She had. She had comforted him; that's what he was trying to convey. It was nice. She remembers, and she's putting it into a more capable form now, using words he's not able to, recollecting those experiences for him. Paimon's still making that odd reedy sound, like strained breathing, hanging desperately onto her words, for what they mean: 'I saw you.' Yes. Yes.
He rocks mentally, remembering, gleeful to be remembered and seen, those feelings echoing back to her. It changes the shape of his fright, softens the edges of it immediately, allows him to focus on her again, and at once he realises, feels, that she's— upset. Worried, aching with it.
She's pleading with him. To— stop hurting Peter, and the name flickers unpleasantly through him, sending him shuddering again, but through that displeasure is a worse one. He doesn't want to upset Luna, to hurt her. She says please don't and he freezes again, trying to understand how he can give her what she's pleading from him.
Peter. He's— hurting Peter. He feels that now, feels the clenched ache of muscle and nerves, feels Peter whimper softly in his sleep; it's too much for him. Hurting the host has been necessary to keep him weak and soft enough inside, but now isn't one of those necessary times. This is different than "careful please". This is a direct plea. 'Please don't.'
Paimon doesn't know how to detach himself from the boy enough to stop hurting him. They're intertwined; the surges of his emotions and feelings run through Peter like electricity. He can't detach from him. So he does the opposite — seeping in deeper, retreating into the depths of his young vessel, somewhere away from those raw nerves and aches. Peter stops fretting, slender fingers gently loosening their subconscious grip in sheets, but now the demon's gone from Luna, the connection between them fading as he fades into Peter. It happens quickly, everything lapsing into sudden silence, save for Peter's soft breathing.
At once, Paimon's exhausted, fluttering only very softly before the last piece of him fades unceremoniously into quiet safety for all three of them. He softly mourns the loss of Luna's gentle presence in here with him, so suddenly after finally getting to speak with her, but he gives this comfort to her as she's asked for it — and that in turn makes him feel a sort of contentedness that runs to the root of him, even a sort of happiness. He will speak with her again. For now, she must be at peace. ]
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no subject
She seems to sleep better when Peter's near. But he's not here for now, and the relative safety of the apartment is her only comfort for the time being. She flicks through a book, not really focusing much on the words — simply existing quietly until the sound comes through the connection. Luna looks up, eyes widening slightly. ]
Peter—? [ His name is breathed softly in reply, a gentle whisper. But she stops. No. No, it isn't Peter. There's some of it that sounds like him, in the vocalisations, perhaps — but Luna... knows this isn't him. It's something else, the Other. Whatever lurks in the far reaches of his mind: a curse, dark magic — buzzing and shifting underneath.
And it's— it's trying to talk to her.
For a long time, she's quiet. The second cluck still vibrating through her mind. She hesitates, unsure if she should really reply. Talking to curses. Stranger things have happened, surely. But Luna knows better — she'll tread carefully with this. ]
Hello. I hear you.
no subject
Paimon can’t feel her in the same form that Peter can. He’s filtered through the boy, his connection with the witch diluted and hazy as a result, and he’s already so lost as it is. In some strange fog of memories, identities, things that have yet to be translated from one form to the next. Some things that never will be.
But she’s still there. Paimon has to reach hard to break through the murkiness, stretching out for her abruptly — a quicker, sharper series of clicks resonating more sharply this time, right away. A cacophony of insect-like sounds, though they halt just as quickly when she says Peter’s name.
There’s too much power in a name. Paimon flinches back from that one, but only slightly. He doesn’t want to risk losing the connection he’s made with her.
‘Hello. I hear you.’
There’s a surge of emotion in response, difficult to pinpoint, perhaps: Paimon doesn’t know how to handle the things that he’s suddenly faced with in the process of being put into the correct human form. He’s at odds with Peter, but the body, the way it thinks and feels and functions, is comfortable. It means the demon is having to learn how to work the emotions he’s now capable of feeling the way he couldn’t when he was in Charlie Graham. And those feelings overwhelm him, flooding through.
The wave is excitement, fear, relief, all of it intense. Paimon’s practically buzzing, and the sound registers that way: a very loud hum. It continues for a bit, then breaks off into a few chirps, lighter, jubilant. Almost as though greeting her. ]
no subject
The curse seems eager to talk to her. Happy to talk to her. Luna isn't exactly expecting such a reaction.
But it's... too much. The sounds, the waves of strong emotion swarming her through the connection. Luna puts her hands to her ears, cringing slightly. She understands the emotions, but there's no words — it's overwhelming, almost. It's a curious thing, though — the sounds it makes. ]
Oh—! Hello, yes—! [ It understands her, at least. But she'd like to understand what it's saying. ] I'm... I'm afraid I can't understand you. Do you know how to speak like me? Can you use words?
no subject
It's— a warmth. She's always been some sense of familiarity, however vague to his own circumstances as it may be. Up until now, he's only been able to interact with her in scattered, chaotic pieces. But this is... it's almost like she's here, with him. In here, inside Peter. The being has never known such comfort, not since being put into his recent incarnations.
He understands most of the individual words she sends to him, though it takes him awhile to piece them together, to make sense of the whole. She can't understand him. There's a surge of frustration, intense almost like from a child, this sudden emotion slicing through everything else so strongly that Peter sighs fitfully in his sleep. But something to Luna's request soothes Paimon moments after, a whirlwind of feelings. She's asked him, and though this isn't steeped in ritualwork and command, the shadow of Paimon still remembers.
It takes him a few moments, mentally working through more odd sounds as his tongue physically would. Through the discord, there is a word. ]
Yes.
[ It sounds like Peter on the surface, but... just below that, it sounds more like something wearing Peter. An imitation that hasn't quite been able to assimilate to the original. ]
Only. [ His mental-tongue slips, the sounds wet and flopping for a moment. ]
Hurts. [ 'Hurts' isn't exactly the right words for it; Paimon's not really in pain. But it feels... unnatural, like fighting against something pressing in against him. He gives a heavy sigh then, almost like a huff. Frustrated. ]
no subject
This has been coming for sometime, in reflection. But there's still much she doesn't know.
She shivers when it speaks. Much like Peter, as if it had stolen his voice. But unnatural, the buzzing undertones of noise beneath it. She grips at the book in her lap, lips pursing as she listen.
And then a pang of sympathy for the poor creature. Its frustration is clear enough, strong enough for her to feel it. ]
I'm sorry, but thank you for trying. [ a beat. ] What... are you? Do you have a name?
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But he'd lived among humans before he'd been placed into Peter — he'd lived among them for thirteen years. The existence was wrong, and he remembers it through another identity's memory, something detached to who he is now. "Charlie" was... something else entirely.
Still. It's there etched into his experience. Little acts of kindness; Charlie wasn't quite capable of understanding or reacting to certain things, but she wasn't nothing. The cruelties were there, but so were the kindnesses, and she felt them.
— A boy in the classroom tells her he likes her new shoes, the ones Grandma sent her, the ones Mom doesn't really want her to wear. Sneakers, very boyish, like Peter's. She'd liked them a lot though. And someone else had said so too. The lady at the grocery store smiles at her every single time they go, and never rushes Charlie as she puts the bags into Mom's buggy, even though it takes her a long time and sometimes the people in line get annoyed. Peter lets her sleep with him when she needs to, even after they move to separate rooms.
Paimon... some part of him, does know kindness. It takes him off-guard, the concern he can feel from her, but in a way that keeps him there. Draws him in. A soft voice, a soft touch that he's felt before. Soothing and calm, not forceful, not expectant. He— relaxes. He still doesn't know what exactly Luna is — a witch, but there are so many kinds. So much magic. Is she human? Nonmortal? He... trusts her, in this place. He needs her.
'What... are you?' ]
Not Peter.
[ It's cryptic, but unintentionally so. It's the only way he knows how to say it, and he'll say the vessel's name in this context: establishing what he's not. ....He'll divulge his own name directly, though. No obscurity to that. It's the first time someone will hear it from him. ]
Paimon.
[ As she's asked, he's given her his name. He does have others, but that one is... special. He tries to convey that, that giving her this name is giving her a certain power. Softer flashes of emotion spread outward to her — trembling anxiety; the need to stay safe, and that often means hidden. ]
Hide. I am hide.
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But talking with it... isn't easy, considering how this is going so far. She'll press as much as she can, though. After all, this thing does want to speak with her.
And then, a name. Luna inhales, her head tilting slightly. Paimon. She's never heard of it before, nothing familiar stirs in her mind. But she notes the way it speaks it to her. This is... important. ]
Paimon. [ It's echoed back to him softly over the anxiousness it sends to her. Her inner voice is hushed. Why is it so afraid? ] Why are you hiding? What are you scared of?
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To give his name is a certain power to another. And to hear his name echoed back is a certain power for him.
Paimon breathes a little more easily now. Though the question gives him pause. He is afraid, but of what? Now that it's presented to him in such a clear manner, he doesn't know what to say, how to say it. He hasn't spoken to many people directly like this since being reborn in Peter. ]
Do not know.
[ ... Helpful. But... after a long bout of silence broken only by the occasional odd noise, he does manage to give some of his fears a shape. It isn't everything, but it's something. ]
Grandma.
[ Charlie had loved Grandma, had been especially close with her, and the imprint of that means Paimon does miss Ellen, in some way. ....But he also fears her, for reasons he isn't even quite sure of. It's a strange aversion, considering how deeply he's been bound to her. Even if she's gone... (River had seen to that), he's still afraid.
Luna was there when he'd last faced her — or some imitation of her. And it's gratefulness that he wants to express, has wanted to express, for some time now. Exchange, gift, reward: it's been waiting inside of him all this time. Now he can tell her. This young creature with ancient blood running through her veins. The gratitude pours from him to her, something warmer now, expressed more in his feelings than the strained words. ]
You have magic. You have saved me.
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Grandma. It makes her pause, fighting back the knee-jerk of remembering how horrified she'd been. Ellen hadn't scared her, not so much — but what Ellen reminded her of had scared her. Peter had seen her go somewhere dark, somewhere she couldn't bring herself to tell him — even long after the adrenaline wore off and he'd helped to breathe again.
She shifts uncomfortably, something sharp stabbing in her chest with every inhale — in turn that discomfort filtering through.
But then she realises. 'Grandma'. An interesting choice in words. Grandma, not Ellen. Why would this thing, this entity that thinks and feels, something separate to Peter, refer to her as 'Grandma'? Why not Ellen? Luna's confused by it, but she tucks that away to dwell on for another time — their conversation is still very much active, after all.
She knows Peter had been afraid of Ellen, that he'd wanted to stay well away from her — and Luna had obliged, rightfully so when she'd turned violent on them. But this thing, too? ]
She's not coming back. [ A louder assurance, one born out of loyalty to Peter, though. ] And if she does, well... we'll deal with that.
[ But the soft wave of gratitude that filters through is... surprising. Luna inhales, eyelids fluttering — Oh. What a curious thing this Paimon is, she thinks. ]
Yes, I'm a witch. I suppose I did save you, too. Didn't I? You were aware of what I did, the whole time?
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But he knows he must offer her something. Her, especially, someone born of magic. The gratitude that seeps from him is intense, more than it probably should be; Paimon doesn't know how to control it. What he feels and the ways he's limited — dulled down under layers of Peter and the effects of this place — is conveyed the only way it can be: through his emotions. The ones being in the right human body lets him feel, but the ones he doesn't know how to work very well.
He feels the waves of her discomfort when Ellen is mentioned; he remembers Luna's fear. Not of her, but of something— else. Perhaps something like her. Paimon had observed this very keenly.
Still, she's trying to reassure him (or so he assumes), is conveying that she will help him again if needed. And divulging to him directly this time, that she is a witch. And he can clarify for her now that he was present the whole time — that they've been connected. Paimon is almost taken aback by all of these things combined, almost seeming frightened — but only because it overwhelms him, very briefly. He flutters, bird wings vibrating quickly, a rippling throat: gives a soft gag-sound, staggering against himself. Through all of this, though, is a sense of excitement, something that makes him return very quickly from where he'd briefly stumbled backwards. He moves forwards again, to the forefront of wherever he is — Peter's mind, Peter's body, the space they both occupy.
He fills it, more now than usual. Temporarily, but it makes him excitable. He feels— stronger. He feels himself pressing against Peter's mind — pressing into hers. ]
Yes. I am here. Whole of time.
[ He was there the "whole time"; he saw everything. He sees now, too, and repeats the word she uses, a soft, slightly wet, breathy sound. What he's telling her is important too. That he's— here. Always here. That he sees her when Peter does. ]
Aware. Whole of time.
[ He likes that he's using a new word, one she's given him. Aware. A ripple of some sort of pleasure moves through him, like amusement but not quite that — the essence of how a smile feels, maybe. ]
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Peter's far more gentle, tentatively reaching out for her — filling small spaces within her. This— this is... it's too much for her. Untempered gratitude with an intensity that it burns — too bright, too sharp. Even when it stumbles away, overwhelmed by her in return, it brings little relief because it pushes back again to quickly.
Luna's head falls into her hands, cradling it gently. To the outside world, it appears as if she has a headache — mentally, she's burning out from Paimon's total abandon. ]
Paimon. Stop—
[ It's too overwhelming, especially when she's still recovering from her death. Easily taxed before mentally and physically. It must know, surely. That she's ill. If it's aware of her, then it must be aware of Peter's own thoughts — Luna isn't blind to his fretting over her since they reunited. ]
Careful. Please.
[ She doesn't know if it even understands the world. It speaks as if it's learning, bolstering itself on her and their conversation. She goes quiet for a short while. She's still there, still connected — the soft, melodic of consciousness drifting through with a soft hum. She hasn't left, just mentally shifted back a little — finding a little silence, a little stillness. Space to think.
It isn't something placed upon Peter, then. Not in the way she thinks it is. But something that... inhabits. Paimon inhabits Peter. It feels and thinks and speaks — it is aware. And happily so. Pleased to be around her, to be aware of her. It's a strange thought — to have something she like this happy because of her. Almost fond of her. It's... oddly comforting, in a way.
Gingerly, she reaches back again: ]
Then you're not a curse, are you? Curses don't have sentience. They're not... like you. Not like the ones from my world. [ It won't say what it is, other than 'Not Peter'. But if it's aware, then maybe it can do other things: ] What do you want?
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He is sensitive. To energy, to will and desire, to the nuances of human strength and weakness. He must be, in order to provide for them what he does. Though he's lost much of himself, diluted and watered down and now confined to certain human limitations in this place, he still... feels more than any normal human can. It's there — his sensitivity, prickling like a living thing.
Her overloaded emotional state as a result of his own bursts in him, a spark of illumination. And whereas he was overwhelmed by everything moments before, he is learning, and very quickly, that this is okay. What connection is here between them is powerful and unstable and he's— okay with that. It burns, but not painful. He... seeks it, this stimulation, this direct flow from someone else into himself, where he has been so numb and so alone for so long.
He feels so alive.
But she's shirking from him for a moment, pulling back; she's tired, and he does know, through Peter, that the witch-girl has been ill. He doesn't quite understand that he must be especially gentle with her, however; he still has very little control over his own mental voice here. It causes a certain curiosity to perk its head in him, but he falls silent when she uses his name, immediately halting. She says his name. That is power, and he will respect it. He waits awhile before answering, and when he does, it's: ]
Careful. Please.
[ He repeats the words — not as an instruction to her, but simply as an.... imitation of the words themselves. He even very subtly imitates the tone of Luna's mental-voice. Sounding them out. Careful please. He does grow quieter, but mostly because he's still imitating what she does, how she feels. The softness she's displaying now, the careful way she gingerly reaches back out for him. He flutters a bit more gentle when she does. He doesn't explicitly remember what curses are, not yet, and yet deep-down he understands. Those run as ancient as him, too, but he knows, somehow, that they aren't involved with him. ]
Not curse.
[ ...The question, though. 'What do you want?' He understands what she's asking, but not how to answer. What...does he want? Does he want anything? Has he ever? His memory is still filled with empty spots and mixed-up places, and for a moment he thinks what he wants is Mom and he doesn't understand why. Something in him aches, and then at once he becomes afraid.
The question — the implication of it — frightens him. It's the unknown. He doesn't know.
Mere seconds ago, he became more gentle as she had, and yet all of a sudden he isn't anymore. Undulating, constantly shifting like waves, Paimon changes again — quickly. He shudders terribly sharp, and in his sleep, Peter frets again, fingers curling into bedsheets. The demon is a second heartbeat, pounding too hard, too cutting. It hurts; the boy, still asleep, frowns as that ache leaks from him. ]
I want you. Talking to. I want you to hold. Hold again? Me? You hold me. It was nice. This is nice.
[ He knows "nice" because of Peter. He's said it before, often, about things Luna has done, and Paimon's slowly picked up on the usage. Garbled, confused, the demon reels out the words, the only thing he can make sense of in the moment: an immediate, simple want, which is Luna's hands to hold him the way they once had those months ago, palms to his face, soothing him down where he'd been so fitful and upset in Peter. She'd comforted him. No one ever has. He's never been capable of being comforted that way. ]
Hold again. I want you to.
[ He just.. repeats it like he's stuck on a loop, and Peter is giving whimpers now, the sounds soft but progressively rising as he shifts uncomfortably, pained, in his sleep. ]
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But it's apparent that it's difficult to really work Paimon out, even as she speaks directly to it. She's only left with more questions, more wondering. Not a curse. Then perhaps some kind of being? She's likened it to an animal before, and now a child. She doesn't seem much further forward. Luna sighs softly, the grumbles of pain heard in it as she rubs at her temples. It's exhausting, but at least when it parrots her, it's some kind of a reprieve — even it it's incredibly short-lived.
Paimon surges again at her question, restless and sharp against her. Her hands grip her head again, jaw tensing. It's afraid. She tries to hush it, calm it down — mental reaching outwards to attempt to soothe it. But when it finally answers her, cold shock bursts in her: I want you. She snaps back from him, her eyes widening.
And she realises: it hadn't been Peter. When she'd first held him in the classroom, or when she'd sworn she'd seen some kind of remembrance in Peter's eyes when she'd reached for his face on the deck of the Titanic. It had been Paimon. Reaching out for her: You hold me. It was nice. ]
It was you. I comforted you. You'd broken free, in the classroom. And then... you remembered me, when Peter didn't. I saw you in his eyes, on the ship. I saw you.
[ She can feel it, hear it. Lost below Paimon's noise, those soft little sounds of sleep, of quiet distress. In Paimon's shadow, Peter stirs in his sleep and she can hear it — more attuned to him, a little more sensitive to that pain. Alarm flashes in her, making her gasp; fretfulness prickling as she reaches for the pain — she wants to soothe it.
To feel Paimon is one thing, but it resides in Peter's head — surely it can only be more sharper for him than what it is for her. And right now it worries her. She's naturally a little more hardier, even if she's weak right now, able to withstand a little more — Peter isn't. ]
Don't hurt him. [ Her voice trembles, pleading. ] Please— please don't. Be calm. Like when I held you, yes? Don't hurt him.
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'It was you. I comforted you.'
The demon draws in a slow, long sound, a sort of rattling, like a breath. Yes... Yes. She had. She had comforted him; that's what he was trying to convey. It was nice. She remembers, and she's putting it into a more capable form now, using words he's not able to, recollecting those experiences for him. Paimon's still making that odd reedy sound, like strained breathing, hanging desperately onto her words, for what they mean: 'I saw you.' Yes. Yes.
He rocks mentally, remembering, gleeful to be remembered and seen, those feelings echoing back to her. It changes the shape of his fright, softens the edges of it immediately, allows him to focus on her again, and at once he realises, feels, that she's— upset. Worried, aching with it.
She's pleading with him. To— stop hurting Peter, and the name flickers unpleasantly through him, sending him shuddering again, but through that displeasure is a worse one. He doesn't want to upset Luna, to hurt her. She says please don't and he freezes again, trying to understand how he can give her what she's pleading from him.
Peter. He's— hurting Peter. He feels that now, feels the clenched ache of muscle and nerves, feels Peter whimper softly in his sleep; it's too much for him. Hurting the host has been necessary to keep him weak and soft enough inside, but now isn't one of those necessary times. This is different than "careful please". This is a direct plea. 'Please don't.'
Paimon doesn't know how to detach himself from the boy enough to stop hurting him. They're intertwined; the surges of his emotions and feelings run through Peter like electricity. He can't detach from him. So he does the opposite — seeping in deeper, retreating into the depths of his young vessel, somewhere away from those raw nerves and aches. Peter stops fretting, slender fingers gently loosening their subconscious grip in sheets, but now the demon's gone from Luna, the connection between them fading as he fades into Peter. It happens quickly, everything lapsing into sudden silence, save for Peter's soft breathing.
At once, Paimon's exhausted, fluttering only very softly before the last piece of him fades unceremoniously into quiet safety for all three of them. He softly mourns the loss of Luna's gentle presence in here with him, so suddenly after finally getting to speak with her, but he gives this comfort to her as she's asked for it — and that in turn makes him feel a sort of contentedness that runs to the root of him, even a sort of happiness. He will speak with her again. For now, she must be at peace. ]